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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912451">Love and War</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikage_is_old_now/pseuds/mikage_is_old_now'>mikage_is_old_now</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kyou Kara Maou!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Divergent, Death, Domestic Violence, Drama, Dubious Consent, He gets better, M/M, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Sexual Content, The Demon King Is Not A Great Partner, Violence, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:01:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,364</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikage_is_old_now/pseuds/mikage_is_old_now</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuuri and Wolfram struggle to develop their relationship as well as find their respective places within the monarchy among the perpetually combative Aristocrats, while Yuuri’s powers seem to grow beyond his control. Meanwhile, growing unrest in the human lands inevitably spills into the Great Demon Kingdom, leading them to war.</p>
<p>(This is a rewrite of an old fic on FFN. It is different from the first version in many ways, but also the same to a certain extent. But also different. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wolfram von Bielefeld/Shibuya Yuuri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love and War</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, friends! Some of you may know this fic <a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2909654/1/Love-and-War">from FFN</a>. Some of you may not. I wrote the first version a long time ago. Actually, it'll be fifteen years in April. Isn't that CRAZY? Anyway, I was struggling to continue writing the sequel a few years ago because there's a lot I hate about the first fic. I hadn't even graduated high school when I started it, and my writing was... certainly not my best. For a long time, I wanted to rewrite it, but never had the chance.</p>
<p>Until now.</p>
<p>Lol, well, at least I'm going to try. I don't have a lot of time on my hands. A lot has changed over the years. I got married, bought a house, had a baby — the works!</p>
<p>Anyone who is already familiar with this fic will notice significant differences right away! One very important thing that has remained the same is that this fic takes place in a universe where Season Three did not happen (despite the fact that Sara is mentioned). So just ignore Season Three. And the OVAs. I should also note that, despite the fact that I have read a lot of the manga and the novel translations and tend to pull a certain amount of inspiration from them when I choose to, this is largely based on the anime canon, since that is the canon I am most comfortable with!</p>
<p>Also, you should be informed that I pick and choose whichever spellings I like for names. I first watched KKM as fansubs, so some of the spellings may not be the official ones. I might change that one day, but for now I'm too busy to worry about it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The light woke Wolfram one humid morning in late July.</p>
<p>Even with his eyes closed, half-asleep and drifting in a realm of nothingness, he knew the dawn was not to blame, though the hour itself had arrived. Shadows shrouded the bedchamber; long, heavy drapes over each tall window obscured the bright summer sun as it rose above the battlements. Every so often, the fabric would shift with the breeze, allowing beams of golden light to cut through the darkness, before the drapes settled into place again and the room returned to its previous state.</p>
<p>It was not the brightness of the hot sun that roused him, but a cold, pale glow much closer to his face. It seeped through Wolfram’s eyelids — a dim but unmistakable blue. </p>
<p>Wolfram’s lashes fluttered as he floated into consciousness. Peering into the gloom, he stared unseeing for a few moments, waiting for the heaviness of exhaustion to ease out of his body. Sprawled on his stomach, spread over the bed at an angle, Wolfram’s short summer nightdress tangled beneath his hips. The awkward slant at which he slept produced a growing soreness in his neck. Instead of a pillow, his head had come to rest against an arm that wasn’t his own. A single pale leg lay against the mattress, bent at the knee; the other seemed to have hooked over another limb at some point in the night. Wolfram had one arm curled beneath him and the second flung out in front of him, hand dangling over the edge of the bed.</p>
<p>He looked no further than the arm beneath his neck to find the source of the light. Wolfram’s sleep-addled vision finally focused, settling upon one of the hands within his line of sight.</p>
<p>Dry, tanned skin met his gaze — a rough palm and calloused fingers; bitten nails and ragged cuticles; stains of black ink, and a thin red scab over a shallow cut on one knuckle.</p>
<p>Wolfram stirred and blinked until his vision cleared; the tired ache behind his eyes was slow to fade. He released a quiet yawn as he stretched, wriggling about ungracefully, fighting with the tangle of his nightdress and the bedsheet until he could roll over and look upon the figure beside him.</p>
<p>With Yuuri on his back, all Wolfram could see of his face at first was his profile — the strands of black hair over his forehead; one brow furrowed over a closed eye; the quiver of his short, dark lashes; the shallow slope of his nose and the tense set of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…” Wolfram murmured, voice thick with fatigue.</p>
<p>The arm beneath Wolfram’s neck twitched, but Yuuri did not wake.</p>
<p>Wolfram’s ankles cracked as he stretched again. After mustering up as much energy as he could at this early hour, Wolfram leaned up on one elbow so as to relieve the pressure against Yuuri’s arm. From this new vantage point, he had a better view of Yuuri’s face — his features creased and strained, as if the scene that plagued Yuuri’s dreams left him unsettled.</p>
<p>The thick castle walls and high ceilings kept the bedchamber at a bearable temperature even in the middle of a brutal heatwave, but the air was still damp and uncomfortable. Yuuri wore nothing but a shirt from Earth — white with short sleeves, and characters written in blue that Wolfram could not read — along with a pair of the awful common undergarments Yuuri favored, which Wolfram chose not to nag him about the night before only because Yuuri had the sense to wear a black pair. Sweat soaked through the shirt in patches. A thin layer of it glistened in the hollow of Yuuri’s throat, and beads of it left clumps of dark hair clinging to Yuuri’s forehead. A single thin lock stuck to the corner of one eye.</p>
<p>Wolfram brought a hand to Yuuri’s cheek. The skin there was cool and clammy.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…” he called again.</p>
<p>Yuuri’s head wrenched away from Wolfram, who sighed and gave in, leaning down to rest his head against Yuuri’s shoulder. He eyed the rapid flicker of Yuuri’s pulse as Yuuri twitched a second time, arm jerking against the bed before going still.</p>
<p>Faint blue light outlined Yuuri’s body. Raw magic pulsed through the air. The thin, pale hair on Wolfram’s arms stood on end as goosebumps broke out along his flesh. A cold, uneasy tension worked its way down his spine. He shivered, then closed his eyes and took a calming breath.</p>
<p>Slowly, determinedly, Wolfram rose to peer at Yuuri’s face again. He put his hand back to Yuuri’s cheek and turned his head closer. He brushed Yuuri’s matted hair away, shaggy and unkempt as it was, pausing to tuck a few stubborn strands of it behind Yuuri’s ears. Wolfram smoothed his thumb over the furrow between Yuuri’s brows, then exhaled a sad little sigh that fanned across Yuuri’s sweaty skin.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…” Wolfram said, his voice firmer now, more awake, but soft and gentle still, easing Yuuri away from his nightmares.</p>
<p>For a brief moment, Yuuri’s expression went slack; his features softened and his body relaxed. The tense air seemed to dissipate, though the glowing blue outline remained. Wolfram held his breath and waited, cautious but hopeful, scanning Yuuri’s face for any minor change, any twitch of the eye or mouth or jaw, any minute fluctuation in power. </p>
<p>On the mantle across the room, a clock quietly kept time.</p>
<p>
  <em> Tick tick tick tick. </em>
</p>
<p>Then Yuuri’s eyes popped open, and with a flurry of movement, Wolfram found himself thrown onto his back, as that rough palm with the calloused fingers curled tight around his neck.</p>
<p>This was not Yuuri as Wolfram had always known him — gentle and kind, joyful and exuberant, at times a little awkward and shy, but slowly growing more confident, settling into his role as King not with unparalleled skill or ease, but with stubbornness and determination, and an impressive capacity for love and mercy.</p>
<p>It was the Demon King who stared down at him, eyes as dark and cold as a moonless winter night, bitter and accusatory — almost hateful, if not for the distant thread of involuntary curiosity that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface now. Yet this was not the Demon King as Wolfram had always known him either. The typical explosion of raw power never came. He hovered there, knees pressed into the mattress, supporting himself with one arm while the other squeezed the air out of Wolfram’s throat.</p>
<p>Wolfram held himself still, taking what shallow breaths he could, until the hand pressed tighter and allowed him nothing at all.</p>
<p>The blue light burned brighter, almost blinding in the shadowy room. Wolfram stared through it, forcing himself to appear calm. Defiance would not serve him well now; neither would a show of weakness. He knew what was expected of him in these moments, and so he repressed the mix of outrage and terror that was always his first instinct, even as fear set his heart racing and aggravation twisted his stomach into knots.</p>
<p>Wolfram did not struggle, nor did he close his eyes and turn away from the Demon King’s dark fury. He met it openly, lifting a hand to curl steady fingers around Yuuri’s wrist, his grip firm, though he did not attempt to pry Yuuri’s hand away. Wolfram relaxed into the bedding, not entirely passive, but accepting.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…” Wolfram tried to speak, voice rasping out of his throat.</p>
<p>Black eyes narrowed, dangerous and forbidding. The hand around Wolfram’s neck gripped tighter still.</p>
<p>With reverence, Wolfram tried again. “Your Majest—”</p>
<p>He could not complete the word, voice caught beneath the pressure against his neck. Wolfram’s vision began to dim, darkness creeping along the edges. Still, he did not struggle; he swept his thumb along Yuuri’s wrist, tender and comforting instead of mutinous.</p>
<p>Just when Wolfram began to make the slide toward unconsciousness, the Demon King released him.</p>
<p>Wolfram gasped and choked and dragged air into his lungs, pulling in a little more with each ragged inhale. His throat ached and his lungs burned as he relearned how to breathe, gulping down as much as he could in case the hand should return. He rolled to cough into one of the pillows while his vision slowly cleared, massaging at his own neck, where he could still feel the phantom press of tense fingers.</p>
<p>It would bruise, he knew — dark and ugly, impossible to hide even beneath the high collar of his uniform.</p>
<p>A hand grabbed Wolfram by the jaw. Though the grip was not as tight as it had been around his neck, it was firm enough to encourage movement, turning him onto his back again. Wolfram gazed up at the Demon King, whose sinister expression eased by a fraction, suffused momentarily with satisfaction. The blue light faded until it was nothing more than a dull glow, taking some of the danger of the situation with it. Sharp, black eyes looked at Wolfram not with anger, but with something like mild interest, and, beneath that, a flash of distant concern.</p>
<p>Wolfram watched each subtle change, searching for any sign that Yuuri was there, perhaps fighting to take control. Every few seconds, miniscule flecks of Yuuri’s warmth would appear, so brief Wolfram almost missed them. They faded just as quickly, held back beneath the grim bitterness that was the Demon King’s prevailing feature, as cold and penetrating as the moment he awakened.</p>
<p>For several long, strained moments that seemed to stretch into eternity, the Demon King stared into Wolfram’s eyes, searching them in equal measure, exploring their depths for… what? Wolfram did not know; he could only speculate, but he’d grown weary of that. They’d had months of this now — each violent awakening followed by a tense stare down. The Demon King rarely spoke, and on the occasions he did, he never said enough for Wolfram to determine a purpose.</p>
<p>Whatever the Demon King hoped to find in him, he must have done so. The corner of Yuuri’s mouth twitched, curling into a smirk. His grip loosened, hand sliding along Wolfram’s jaw so he could take Wolfram’s chin between his fingers, thumb nudging the edge of Wolfram’s lower lip.</p>
<p><em> Tick tick tick </em> went the clock on the mantle.</p>
<p>Slowly, the Demon King drew nearer, descending inch by inch, until they could share the same breath.</p>
<p>“If I commanded it,” the Demon King began; his voice was Yuuri’s but the tone was deeper, smooth where Yuuri’s would have stuttered and halted as he asked, “Would you submit yourself to me?”</p>
<p>If anyone else had the audacity to ask such a question, Wolfram would have pulled away and spat in their face, provided he didn’t burn them first. But this was the Demon King, who commanded respect if not total obedience, and somewhere beneath the harsh manners and fierce bluster, Yuuri still lingered.</p>
<p>“It would be an honor,” Wolfram said, quieter than he intended, but he kept himself just as steady as before.</p>
<p>In all the years he’d had to consider their future, even while coming to terms with the fact that having any sort of relationship with Yuuri meant maintaining peace with the Demon King, Wolfram never imagined it would be quite like this.</p>
<p>The miniscule shred of space between them disappeared. With that same acceptance that wasn’t quite submission, but the closest his pride would allow, Wolfram closed his eyes and let the scene progress.</p>
<p>This kiss began as they always did — tentative and exploratory, like the Demon King needed to get his bearings again after the long weeks that had passed since last time; the initial soft brush of lips seemed contrary to his nature otherwise. It was soon followed by a second, then a third, before the press of his mouth grew as firm as his hand, and just as insistent.</p>
<p>The Demon King kissed like he meant to devour, dipping his tongue into Wolfram’s mouth as soon as he had an opening. The rest of his actions did not always seem to be his own. Fingers crept along Wolfram’s face, cradling his jaw with more tenderness than before. For every show of force on the part of the Demon King, there was an equally gentle touch to remind Wolfram that Yuuri was close, perhaps drifting further toward consciousness with every nip of teeth or swipe of tongue.</p>
<p>Yuuri was there, always, whether or not he was in total control.</p>
<p>The more frequent these encounters became, the more Wolfram wondered if he should make an effort to put a stop to them. Should he turn away when the Demon King made his advances? Was there anything he could say that might bring Yuuri back sooner? Would he fail if he tried? The Demon King was not the type to tolerate defiance; Wolfram learned that lesson years ago, the first time Yuuri unintentionally demonstrated the extent of his power. Every transformation since reinforced that knowledge, whether or not the Demon King’s arrival was triggered by something Wolfram had done.</p>
<p>Wolfram might be pompous and full of pride, overindulged as a child and not always taken seriously as an adult, which often sparked his contentious nature, but he wasn’t so arrogant as to assume he could pose any sort of challenge to the Demon King. Magic crackled through the air, tingling against Wolfram’s skin at every point of contact, passing through him like a current, surrounding him until he was breathless from the intensity of it.</p>
<p>If he concentrated hard enough on the things about the Demon King that reminded him of Yuuri, the guilt lessened. It was Yuuri’s lips against his own, dry and rough in spots because of it, in desperate need of a soothing balm. It was Yuuri’s breath on his face, a little stale after a night of sleep, but warm and familiar all the same. It was Yuuri’s hand against his skin, sliding up his jaw to thumb at his cheek, before sinking into his sleep-mussed hair.</p>
<p><em> ‘It’s nice like that</em>,<em>’ </em> Yuuri said once, when Wolfram was so fed up with the growing length of it that he considered cutting it short again.</p>
<p><em> ‘It’s a nuisance,’ </em>Wolfram complained at the time, scowling at the way it fell into his face and stuck to his neck and shoulders when it was hot.</p>
<p>But Yuuri laughed and said, <em> ‘I think it’s pretty,’ </em>and the thought of cutting it hadn’t crossed Wolfram’s mind since.</p>
<p>Though he made an effort to keep still, Wolfram’s hands wandered of their own accord. He meant to keep them against the bedding, fingers curled into the disarray of sheets and thin summer quilt, but the longer they kissed, the less he could rely on restraint; he was not as unaffected as he attempted to appear, nor was he the passive doll he assumed the Demon King wanted. His grip began on Yuuri’s arms, using the touch as an anchor to hold himself steady. Up and up his hands traveled, over Yuuri’s shoulders and onto his back, slow and a little hesitant — not out of shyness or fear, merely the lasting effects of doubt and confusion.</p>
<p>A soft noise rose through Wolfram’s throat. Quiet as it was, the moan still cut through the relative silence of the room.</p>
<p>The Demon King pulled back an inch, close enough that his low laughter fanned across Wolfram’s face.</p>
<p>“Eager,” he said.</p>
<p>Wolfram opened his eyes to the sight of a widening smirk. It took a considerable amount of willpower not to glare at the taunt. He kept the aggravation off of his face, but could not stop his fingers from gripping at Yuuri’s shirt, twisting the fabric between his fingers. Wolfram’s breathing was unsteady, having already been out of breath before; his heart never stopped racing.</p>
<p>The Demon King was stoic in comparison, apparently impervious to the rising heat. He leaned close again, catching Wolfram’s bottom lip between his teeth.</p>
<p>A loud knock against the door interrupted them. Wolfram tensed, startled, gasping at the sudden sharp pain of teeth sinking into his lip. Above him, the blue light vanished as if it had never been, and when the Demon King pulled back again, it was Yuuri’s wide, horrified eyes that stared down at him.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…” Wolfram said, unable to disguise his relief. He released Yuuri’s shirt and took Yuuri’s face between his palms, rushing to offer comfort he knew Yuuri would not accept.</p>
<p>Yuuri glanced over him, from the hand clenched in Wolfram’s hair, which he quickly released, to Wolfram’s sore lip and the discoloration along his neck. All traces of color drained from Yuuri’s face; if not for the healthy glow summer always gave him, he would have gone completely white. His mouth dropped open as if he meant to speak, but words escaped him. He gaped in shock instead, chest rapidly expanding and contracting with the onset of panic.</p>
<p>“Yuuri, I’m fine,” Wolfram tried again, forcing himself to be calm.</p>
<p>The sound of another firm knock resounded through the room.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty?” Conrart called.</p>
<p>“Y-Yeah…” Yuuri tried to speak, but he could not seem to find his voice; it came out quiet and stuttering. He swallowed and shook himself out of it, showing Wolfram one last apologetic look before pulling away and scrambling off the bed. The next time Yuuri spoke, he sounded more like himself. “Yeah, I’m up!”</p>
<p>Wolfram sat up as the door opened, turning his back to it before Conrart could get a good look at him.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Conrart said, like he did every morning. Then, after Yuuri responded with forced cheer, came the politely added, “Wolfram…”</p>
<p>Wolfram ignored the greeting and sat along the edge of the bed while Yuuri and Conrart engaged in their usual morning chatter. He brought a hand to his stinging lip and noted the blood that slicked the tips of his fingers as a result. Wolfram wiped the stain away with the hem of his short nightdress, licking the rest of the evidence from his lip in the process.</p>
<p>He watched Yuuri dress, noting the tension in his back when he removed his sweaty shirt, and the jerkiness of his arms as he pulled on a new one. With any luck, Conrart would attribute the behavior to fatigue. He didn’t sound concerned, at least, discussing their plans for the day as he would if nothing had changed between this morning and the last. He cracked a joke, the punchline of which Wolfram completely missed, but it made Yuuri cringe like all of Conrart’s bad jokes, so Wolfram assumed things were progressing normally.</p>
<p>While Yuuri and Conrart were sufficiently distracted, Wolfram took the opportunity to collect himself. He brought his hands to his face and rubbed at his temples, then his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms against them until they ached from the pressure. He drew in a deep, settling breath, letting it out on a slow exhale that lessened some of the strain and unease gripping his body. His heartbeat decelerated, returning to something like its normal rhythm, but the anxiety twisting through his gut did not immediately abate.</p>
<p>Yuuri was done with his preparations by the time Wolfram dropped his hands to face the room again, dressed in another short-sleeved shirt with incomprehensible writing across the front, and shorts in the place of his usual jogging trousers to combat the oppressive summer heat. He glanced quickly in Wolfram’s direction, clearly struggling to contain his own hysteria in the face of what he knew had just happened, but he broke eye contact just as fast, tugging on his running shoes while Conrart waited patiently by the door.</p>
<p>Wolfram slid off the bed to make his approach. He waited for Yuuri to straighten, then drew Yuuri into a hug, winding his arms around Yuuri’s neck despite the fact that Yuuri’s immediate response was to tense up and attempt to step away.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Wolfram insisted, mouth close to Yuuri’s ear, voice quiet so Conrart couldn’t hear. “I promise.”</p>
<p>Bit by bit, second by second, Yuuri relaxed and stopped resisting. His arms rose to wrap around Wolfram’s waist, though he was slow and tentative, his embrace loose. He released a deep sigh into Wolfram’s hair before nodding minutely, accepting the assurance whether or not he believed it.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said just as softly.</p>
<p>Wolfram shook his head and held him tighter, as if by doing so he could keep Yuuri close, keep him present, keep him whole, keep him safe from whatever ailed him. For a long, drawn out moment, he couldn’t make himself let go, fearful that the minute he did would be the second he lost Yuuri for good.</p>
<p>When Wolfram finally drew back, he put a smile onto his face. Compulsively, his hands rose to Yuuri’s hair, combing his fingers through it to adjust the disheveled mess Yuuri hadn’t bothered to put into any semblance of order. He brushed a few strands out of Yuuri’s eyes, tucked a few more behind Yuuri’s ears, but held his tongue against any complaints, even if Yuuri could benefit from a good trim.</p>
<p>Yuuri scanned Wolfram’s face, holding Wolfram’s gaze long enough to search for any sign of turmoil. Finding none, his eyes dropped to Wolfram’s mouth, and though Wolfram’s heart fluttered with a thrill of anticipation, he knew by the restrained sadness in Yuuri’s expression that a kiss was not forthcoming.</p>
<p>Wolfram licked his lower lip to clear away the blood that still welled there, smoothing a few wrinkles out of Yuuri’s shirt before stepping back the rest of the way.</p>
<p>Yuuri’s hands left him slowly. He kept them on Wolfram’s waist at first, running his fingers along the seams of Wolfram’s nightdress, gripping the fabric tight when he took another deep breath. Only when Yuuri could force a smile did he look Wolfram in the eye again, ending their embrace with what Wolfram took to be a comforting pat to his side.</p>
<p>“I’ll see you,” Yuuri said, passing with a final absent-minded touch to Wolfram’s hair.</p>
<p>Wolfram kept his back turned, more to avoid Conrart than to ignore Yuuri’s departure, but when he could hear Yuuri at the door, preparing to leave for what could be hours, Wolfram turned to stop him.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…”</p>
<p><em> Don’t let him go</em>, his instincts screamed.</p>
<p>But that was foolish. Nothing disastrous was going to happen. Yuuri would train with Conrart as he did most mornings. He would bathe and dress more appropriately and have breakfast with Greta. He would go to his office to finish whatever work might be waiting for his attention, or ride out to the ballfield to pass the day at leisure. He would smile and laugh with the Great Sage, grimace whenever Gunter mentioned anything about his studies, and charm his way out of a lecture from Gwendal, who, out of an abundance of fondness he didn’t like to admit to, would put off as much work as he could until tomorrow. They would all come together for dinner that evening, after which Wolfram would retire with Yuuri, probably late at night when they were both a little tipsy and tired of socializing, and they’d wake again tomorrow like the last half hour was nothing more than a fluke.</p>
<p>They’d go about their lives as they always did, until a few days from now, or a couple of weeks, perhaps as much as a month, before the Demon King made his presence known again.</p>
<p>Yuuri stopped and glanced back, concern warring with the happy look he’d managed to adopt. Beyond him, Conrart looked between them; he had a pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes flicked back and forth like he was searching for an explanation.</p>
<p>Wolfram forced another smile and said, “Happy birthday.”</p>
<p>Yuuri’s mouth curved up. If not for the remorse that still lingered in his eyes, it would have looked genuine.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he said.</p>
<p>Neither of them had much of a reason for further delay after that. Yuuri left with a half-hearted wave, taking Conrart and Conrart’s suddenly suspicious glances with him.</p>
<p>There was something very final about the door thudding into place as it closed. </p>
<p>Aside from the clock that continued to keep time along the mantle, the room was silent again, swathed in shadows from the curtains that had not yet been opened. Wolfram pulled a pair aside, letting in a little sunlight, gazing down into the gardens where several maids scurried about, preparing for the day’s festivities.</p>
<p>Listlessly, Wolfram drifted toward the vanity, nervous about what he would see but determined to assess the damage. His bottom lip was raw in the center and already starting to swell, but he could explain that away if he had to; maybe he would be lucky and some of the swelling would go down before he had any need to show his face outside of the private sections of the castle. He had no such hope for his neck, red and sore from Yuuri’s hand. The inevitable bruising would be slow to fade and difficult to hide. With the right lighting and enough wine to dull their senses, their guests might not notice that evening, but neither Conrart nor Gwendal would miss it. Greta would see it, and Mother. The Great Sage would stare, distant but knowing, and Wolfram had no suitable explanation to give any of them.</p>
<p>Uncharacteristically vulgar, Wolfram spat a curse at his reflection.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>…”</p>
<p>He collapsed onto the cushioned stool in front of the vanity, set his elbows on the wooden surface, dropped his head into his hands, and allowed himself this one moment of overwhelming dread.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The clash of metal against metal rang through the air as a pair of swords met in simulated combat, the edges dulled but the weight of them suitable enough for training.</p>
<p>A contingent of men in tan Weller uniforms filled the training yard, circling the periphery with their captain at the fore. Many of them shouted encouragement as they watched the bout currently taking place in the center. A few made not so subtle exchanges of money between them, placing bets for or at the expense of their king. Several others stood with practice swords at hand, waiting for the order to take their comrade’s place.</p>
<p>Gwendal looked on from the shade of the upper loggia, standing at the balustrade, framed on each side by supportive columns. His frown deepened as he watched the King’s attempts to defend against and disarm Conrart’s men.</p>
<p>“Almost painful to watch, isn’t it?” a voice said to Gwendal’s right.</p>
<p>Yozak approached to lean lazily against the balustrade, staring down into the training yard with an expression of interest mixed with pity, visibly grimacing through a smile.</p>
<p>Briefly, Gwendal’s gaze flicked toward him, just long enough to note the grimy state of Yozak’s clothes and the subtle traces of fatigue that dulled his eyes and sapped a bit of the strength from his shoulders, before returning his attention to the informal duel below.</p>
<p>The Weller soldier dropped his sword due to a foolish mistake rather than any true prowess on the King’s part; he bowed before retrieving it, then fell back at Conrart’s command as the next soldier stepped forward.</p>
<p>The King was beginning to falter, but he kept a firm, stubborn grip on his sword. In the King’s defense, he would not have lasted this long years ago, and the complaints he once expressed about regular training were now a thing of the past. Yet Gwendal could not squash his disappointment, watching the King pant from exertion, noticeably tired and drenched with sweat while the soldiers remained almost entirely unaffected.</p>
<p>“You’d think eight years of training with the Captain would’ve taught the kid a thing or two,” Yozak drawled, voice light and nonchalant, with a trace of fondness that Gwendal, discerning as he was, did not miss.</p>
<p>“His Majesty is set in his ways,” Gwendal observed.</p>
<p>“You think it’s stubbornness?” Yozak asked. “That he’s bad on purpose?”</p>
<p>Gwendal’s disappointment grew at the next meeting of swords. The King’s arms shook from the force of it; he almost stumbled, stepping back too quickly and skidding along the dirt.</p>
<p>It made no sense. The King was athletic. He enjoyed the outdoors and took pleasure in physical activity. He was not weak despite the occasional skittishness of his personality, nor was he unintelligent despite the frequent interruptions to his education. His human blood gave him the benefit of rapid growth, improving both his height and his musculature. He should be an able swordsman.</p>
<p>What progress the King made was moderate at best, neither impressive nor entirely discouraging, but Gwendal still found himself dissatisfied.</p>
<p>If not for his magic, the King would be a laughingstock.</p>
<p>“I think he lacks the passion for it,” Gwendal said. “He still has no desire to fight.”</p>
<p>Swords flashed in the sunlight, glinting with their every move. The King swore loudly, then apologized, pausing for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow.</p>
<p>In the midst of combat, an enemy would not have allowed him the chance.</p>
<p>Summer was in full swing; it had been for weeks now. A wet, cloying heat settled upon them as they stood there, but Gwendal, like the soldiers below, remained largely unaffected even in his long coat. In the eastern gardens, not visible from this area of the castle, his mother’s flowers were in full bloom, lending their sweet fragrance to the air. Birds chirped their merry songs, flitting from tree to tree. In the distance rose the sounds of the changing of the guard.</p>
<p>The day should be cheerful. That evening, there would be the requisite celebrations for the King’s twenty-fourth birthday. Guests would drink and dance. There would be music and laughter. The kitchens would outdo last year’s effort and produce a banquet of unrivaled delight. Their King, a grown man for many years now, and more sure of his place in the Kingdom, would smile and charm the crowd as he always managed to, a blend of confidence and modesty few could emulate with as much success.</p>
<p>But beneath that joy and good humor, darkness stirred.</p>
<p>“What news from Cimaron?” Gwendal asked.</p>
<p>“Nothing good,” Yozak said, tone and expression lowering. “Belar refuses to release Lady Flynn. Saralegui’s been keeping quiet. Biding his time, most likely. I can’t imagine he’s too happy being even further beneath Belar’s thumb. There’s been some rumors that Isidore plans to use Cimaron’s instability to their advantage, but there’s been no sign of movement yet.”</p>
<p>“Cimaron would not stand long against them.”</p>
<p>“Neither would we.”</p>
<p>Yozak turned, leaning back against the balustrade, folding his arms over his chest.</p>
<p>“Have you told him yet?” he asked with a quick jerk of his head toward the King.</p>
<p>“Have I told him what?”</p>
<p>“Don’t play coy,” Yozak teased, though it lacked his usual pestering tone. “Have you told him about Tarrin and Eldham?”</p>
<p>“No,” Gwendal said, eyes narrowing as the King stumbled a second time.</p>
<p>“Do you plan to?”</p>
<p>“What would I tell him?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” Yozak replied with audible sarcasm. “‘Funny thing, Your Majesty. Two of our villages have turned up ravaged. Completely destroyed. Not a single survivor in sight. Which would make sense if they were closer together, because then it might have been bandits, or if they were located in one of our border territories, which would imply Cimaron has advanced further than we thought, but one village was in Karbelnikoff and the other in Voltaire, and they were both too far away from the coast to be the work of pirates.’”</p>
<p>Gwendal said nothing. He did not move, and there was no change to his expression.</p>
<p>Yozak sighed. “The strong, silent act doesn’t fool anyone anymore, <em> Gwen.</em>”</p>
<p>A single brow twitched, which was likely exactly what Yozak intended. If he were anyone else, Gwendal would reprimand him for the disrespect.</p>
<p>“You’re worried,” Yozak observed. “You’ve been worried for weeks now.”</p>
<p>“I will inform the King when there is suitable information to be shared,” Gwendal said, tearing his eyes away from the training yard to set his disapproving gaze upon Yozak instead.</p>
<p>Yozak threw his hands up and shrugged. “That’s all I have. Hard to turn up anything without a single witness.”</p>
<p>Another clash of swords, another loud curse, and another scuffle in the dirt. Gwendal turned back to the training yard, watching the King lean over, panting while he braced his hands above his knees. His sword gleamed upon the ground several feet away.</p>
<p>If Gwendal looked closely, he thought he could detect the faintest trace of blue light outlining the King’s figure, but it was there and gone again before he could be sure.</p>
<p>Yozak chuckled, and glanced down to watch the aftermath.</p>
<p>The most recent soldier bowed and uttered what Gwendal assumed were apologies, inaudible from his spot in the upper loggia. The King rose after a moment and smiled, wiping more sweat from his brow before shoving a hand through his disheveled hair. He turned to pick up his sword and fell into a defensive position; his stance was correct, but his discomfort was becoming more obvious by the second. After a moment’s hesitation, Conrart called an end to the training exercise, and the King allowed himself to gracelessly collapse and sit upon the ground, laughing at himself in his usual self-deprecating way.</p>
<p>Gwendal clenched his jaw, flattening the line of his mouth before it could curve any lower.</p>
<p>Conrart glanced up into the loggia and caught Gwendal’s eye, his expression pleasant for the King’s benefit, but to Gwendal, the concern in his gaze was palpable.</p>
<p>Gwendal held back a sigh and turned away.</p>
<p>“Bathe and eat,” he commanded, passing Yozak without another glance. “We have this evening’s security arrangements to discuss after.”</p>
<p>“Sure thing, boss,” Yozak replied, lifting a hand in a jaunty, irreverent salute.</p>
<p>So much was changing, and yet so much still remained the same.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Preparations for that evening’s celebrations were almost complete by the time the King was done with lunch and back in his office.</p>
<p>Conrart left Yuuri in Gunter’s keeping and made his way through the gardens, maintaining his pleasant smile and occasionally stepping out of the way of a bustling maid or two — and Nicola, who insisted upon helping even if she needn’t bother, being the wife of a Lord. There were tables draped in crisp white cloth, topped with golden candelabrum and lavish floral arrangements. Later, the finest dinner plates would be set out, and the polished silverware neatly arranged beside crystal goblets filled with wine.</p>
<p>The sun was lowering slowly, the sky clear and blue. If the weather held and the temperature lowered just enough, it would be the perfect night for a party.</p>
<p>In a corner of the garden, within sight of the tables but far enough away to keep from being a nuisance, Conrart found Wolfram with Greta and little El Grisela. Wolfram crouched behind El, adjusting the position of El’s arms and the set of his feet, while El held a wooden sword in both of his small hands. Greta stood across from them with a wooden sword of her own, her stance perfect, long auburn hair pulled up into a hastily bound bun.</p>
<p>Wolfram glanced up when Conrart came to a stop. A patient smile left Wolfram’s face, to be replaced with a frown that looked too much like Gwendal for Conrart’s liking. After whispering encouragement to El, Wolfram stood and left him to Greta, meeting Conrart a short distance away.</p>
<p>“He’s younger than you were the first time anyone put a wooden sword in your hand,” Conrart observed.</p>
<p>Wolfram stood beside him. Together, they watched Greta pretend to have a difficult time defending against an eight-year-old half human.</p>
<p>“He insisted,” Wolfram said.</p>
<p>“He’s barely more than a toddler,” Conrart countered.</p>
<p>“Toddlers can be very persuasive.”</p>
<p>Wolfram’s nose and cheeks were faintly pink from the sun. His growing hair was bound into a lazy, haphazard knot at the base of his skull, damp at the roots and a bit more rumpled than he would usually allow. A few tendrils escaped their simple bindings to frame his face, frizzy with humidity.</p>
<p>It was a pleasant sight for Conrart, who did not often see his younger brother in such an undignified state outside of the King’s bedchamber, but his amusement was short-lived, disappearing entirely as soon as his gaze dropped to Wolfram’s neck.</p>
<p>The collar of Wolfram’s jacket was fastened as formally as usual, his jabot neatly done and pinned into place with a thin, decorative chain. He must have snuck into their mother’s room, or purchased the necessary pastes and powders for himself, because he’d dabbed some onto his neck in an attempt to hide the bruising — an effort that might have been successful if there weren’t visible residue along the edge of his collar. Even a thin sheen of sweat was enough to destroy the carefully applied concealer.</p>
<p>“Mother always said you went against her wishes when you gave me my first sword,” Wolfram continued.</p>
<p>Conrart released a short laugh and smiled indulgently. “You could be very persuasive.”</p>
<p>He allowed himself a brief lapse into memory — Wolfram as a child, round cheeked and bright eyed, with a mischievous smile and a love for his older brothers that bordered on hero-worship.</p>
<p>Wolfram was a young man now, as lovely as their mother, and an accomplished soldier in his own right. Gone were the days of wooden swords and chasing one another around the gardens. They’d lost those days long ago, once Wolfram learned of Conrart’s human blood.</p>
<p>Soon, Wolfram would marry their human king.</p>
<p>Smile faltering, Conrart said, “You should have told someone.”</p>
<p>“About?” Wolfram asked, making a play at seeming unconcerned, refusing to move his gaze away from El and Greta.</p>
<p>“About Yuuri,” Conrart elaborated, choosing to use Yuuri’s name rather than his title so as to demonstrate the seriousness of the topic.</p>
<p>“There’s nothing to tell,” Wolfram said.</p>
<p>If not for the way his expression grew pinched, his lies might have been believable.</p>
<p>“How long has he been this unstable?” Conrart asked.</p>
<p>“I’ve not noticed any instability.”</p>
<p>“Wolfram…”</p>
<p>“Does he seem unstable to you?”</p>
<p>Wolfram was too flippant, almost forcefully so, his voice unnaturally light with indifference. His eyes, arguably his most expressive feature, were dull in the careful, blank set of his face, mouth twitching like he was holding back a frown.</p>
<p>“How would you explain the bruising, then?” Conrart urged him. “It wasn’t there yesterday.”</p>
<p>“It was a training accident,” Wolfram said.</p>
<p>“You’re saying one of the men managed to get a hand around your neck? His Majesty won’t be pleased to hear that.”</p>
<p>Wolfram turned his head just enough to look up at him. His hair had grown in eight years, but his stature had not changed much. More than likely, he would always be slight compared to Conrart and Gwendal; he took after their mother more than Wolfram probably preferred.</p>
<p>But when the alternative was to take after his father…</p>
<p>Perhaps Wolfram didn’t mind his resemblance to their mother so much after all.</p>
<p>“What do you want me to say, Conrart?” Wolfram asked, frowning openly now.</p>
<p>After decades of hearing Wolfram refer to him by his title instead of by his name, eight years was not nearly enough time to diminish the satisfaction Conrart took from once again hearing the latter.</p>
<p>“The truth,” Conrart said, unable to enjoy it now, when he could see a finger shaped bruise on the verge of reappearing above Wolfram’s collar. “How long?”</p>
<p>Wolfram glanced away again, allowing his gaze to return to Greta and El, though his eyes took on a distant, guarded look, like he could not quite see them.</p>
<p>“Maybe ten months,” he replied. The lack of emotion in his voice seemed purposeful. “Maybe a year, almost. It doesn’t happen often. He dreams. He wakes up and can’t control himself. Sometimes he’s disoriented and I pay the price, but he stops himself every time.”</p>
<p>“The Demon King?” Conrart asked.</p>
<p>Wolfram’s shoulders rose and fell in a careless shrug. “He’s Yuuri, and he’s not. I’m beginning to wonder at the difference.”</p>
<p>“And you’ve told no one?”</p>
<p>“Who should I tell?”</p>
<p>“Myself? Gwendal? His Eminence?”</p>
<p>Wolfram scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “The Great Sage never has a straightforward answer about anything.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t explain why you’ve not told either me or Gwendal.”</p>
<p>“I was following Yuuri’s lead.”</p>
<p>“<em>Wolfram</em>…” Conrart said, vexed by Wolfram’s offhand manner. “This is no laughing matter.”</p>
<p>“Believe me, I am aware,” Wolfram lightly argued. “Do you hear me laughing?”</p>
<p>“He could cause you serious harm.”</p>
<p>“He wouldn’t,” Wolfram insisted, but he didn’t sound too certain.</p>
<p>Conrart thought to point out the bruising again, but he knew it would have no effect. Wolfram cared far more for Yuuri’s safety than he cared for his own. In Wolfram’s defense, Conrart was no different. Yuuri was and would always be their main priority.</p>
<p>“He could harm himself,” Conrart said instead, and that did the trick like no other argument could.</p>
<p>Wolfram’s carefully controlled expression fell into misery. He frowned deeply, mouth twitching again, but this time it was due to the release of emotion rather than the restraint of it. His shoulders grew tense, hands curling into fists at his sides. A furrow appeared between his brows, and he looked up at Conrart with a sadness bordering on fear.</p>
<p>“You’ve kept this to yourself for ten months?” Conrart asked, voice going quiet with comfort.</p>
<p>“What would you have done if I’d told you?”</p>
<p>Conrart wanted to say that he would have put a stop to it, but he knew as well as Wolfram that there was nothing he could feasibly do other than talk to Yuuri, which likely wouldn’t have solved anything. Yuuri had better control over his magic now than he did the first time he used it, but that control was never a guarantee. Depending on the situation, he could slip into one of the wild displays of magic he’d become known for throughout the world.</p>
<p>Another memory drifted forward, this one much more recent — Yuuri doubled over with exhaustion that morning in the training yard, briefly surrounded by pale, hazy blue light.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t trust you,” Wolfram said. When Conrart looked at him questioningly, he elaborated, “When he’s like that. The Demon King doesn’t trust you.”</p>
<p>Conrart frowned but could not disagree. Yuuri may have forgiven his betrayal years ago, may have ultimately understood Conrart’s reasons for temporarily allying himself with Belar, for drawing his sword against him, but there was a part of Yuuri that never quite managed to let it go. The Demon King did not grant his trust lightly. Even after all this time, Conrart could not blame him.</p>
<p>“I think he trusts Gwendal more than anyone,” Wolfram continued. “He <em> barely </em> trusts me.”</p>
<p>“All the more reason for you to have said something.”</p>
<p>Wolfram shrugged again. He drew in as much air as his lungs could hold and let it out on a slow exhale, forcing his hands to uncurl when he was through.</p>
<p>“Do you remember two months ago, when he wanted to go to Earth?” Wolfram asked.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Conrart said. Yuuri turned up at his office late that morning, prepared for work instead. “He decided not to.”</p>
<p>Wolfram shook his head, staring very hard at a flowering bush across the garden. “He couldn’t open a portal.”</p>
<p>Conrart turned to face Wolfram fully, hiding any visible concern from Greta and El, both of whom continued their pretend fight, though they could lower their swords and approach at any moment.</p>
<p>“He managed it a week later, but…” Wolfram hesitated, uncertain. “He’s tried a few times since then just to make sure he can, and he hasn’t always been successful.”</p>
<p>“Wolfram…”</p>
<p>Conrart could not determine what could possibly have driven Wolfram to keep any of this a secret for so long. The fear, perhaps, barely distinguishable beneath the rest of his emotions, but there. Or humiliation, that he could not help Yuuri resolve these issues on his own. Sadness or anger, there was no telling with Wolfram. He was an emotional young man, always had been, but he also closed himself off from others, turned inward and bore the brunt of things on his own instead of allowing himself to ask for help.</p>
<p>If he did not think Wolfram would pull away, Conrart would put a comforting hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“What could this mean?” he asked instead.</p>
<p>The question was not really meant for Wolfram, who would have done something by now if he had any answers. A sense of hopelessness washed over Conrart, and he, too, stared across the garden.</p>
<p>“You’ll tell Gwendal,” Wolfram assumed.</p>
<p>Conrart sighed. “We can’t keep this from him.”</p>
<p>“But you won’t tell Yuuri about the two villages that were attacked?”</p>
<p>With a start, Conrart glanced at Wolfram again, only to be met by a hard green gaze and a mulish frown.</p>
<p>“I’m not as oblivious as Yuuri is, Conrart, nor am I incapable of uncovering information on my own. I’m not even sure Yuuri’s still as oblivious as you and Gwendal want him to be. He knows you’ve been keeping something from him.”</p>
<p>“I’m not convinced this would be a good time to share the information with him,” Conrart said, purposefully eyeing Wolfram’s neck.</p>
<p>Wolfram brought a hand to his collar, suddenly self-conscious, but he forced himself to drop it moments later.</p>
<p>“He regrets it,” Wolfram said. “After.”</p>
<p>“Yuuri does?” Conrart asked.</p>
<p>Wolfram nodded shallowly.</p>
<p>“I thought you said you were beginning to wonder at the difference.”</p>
<p>Silence reigned, then, broken only by the thunk of wooden swords, the jubilant peel of childish laughter, and the distant chattering of the maids.</p>
<p>Wolfram took another breath, and before anything else could be said, turned and walked away.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The party went on for hours that night.</p>
<p>Music filled the air long after sunset, as their guests danced by the light of the stars and moon, aided by torches and candles where the shadows crept too far. The food was plentiful, and the wine was never ending, encouraging laughter and conversation, and an abundance of good cheer.</p>
<p>Yuuri was not much of a dancer, nor did he have a penchant for overeating, and his consumption of alcohol was limited to a goblet or two, so he spent much of the party exchanging pleasantries with all the finely dressed noblemen and women who made up his court. He knew most of them by name at this point, could ask after their families with genuine interest, and hold polite conversations about imports and exports and taxes, which he would have been clueless about years ago. There were well wishes and gifts, and party games of Lady Celi’s design, which she used as an opportunity to shift some of the attention to herself, flirting with every handsome man she set her sights on, to the discomfort and embarrassment of her three sons.</p>
<p>The night ended with fireworks popping loudly overhead. Yuuri tipped his head back to watch, overwarm with Greta on one side and Wolfram on the other, his heart skipping a few beats as a set of pale fingers tangled between his own.</p>
<p>He followed Wolfram to their room later that night, smiling at Wolfram’s back while Wolfram yawned and shooed Greta off to bed. She smiled and kissed them both on the cheek, but edged passed her room when Wolfram wasn’t looking, opening the door just enough to let it thunk closed before waving at Yuuri and silently slipping off to spend a few more hours with her friends.</p>
<p>Yuuri watched after her, proud of how much she’d grown, but wistful, too, when he thought of how quickly it happened.</p>
<p>“She thinks I have no idea what she’s doing,” Wolfram complained lightly, though he didn’t turn to witness Greta’s escape, allowing her to believe she’d succeeded.</p>
<p>“Who’s doing what?” Yuuri asked, playing along.</p>
<p>Wolfram turned just enough to present him with a flat-eyed stare.</p>
<p>Yuuri laughed and gave Wolfram’s back a gentle shove. “You could go off and have fun, too, if you wanted.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather spend the night with you,” Wolfram said, and continued on his way to their room.</p>
<p>Yuuri paused to stare after him, heart rising into his throat. He cleared it nervously and followed again, letting his eyes drift over Wolfram’s form.</p>
<p>Wolfram wore his dress uniform, blue with gold trim and a lace jabot at his throat, pinned with a glittering sapphire brooch. The cut of the jacket accentuated his narrow waist, and the crisp press of his trousers drew the eye down his long legs. The view was particularly alluring from behind. Heat soon filled Yuuri’s cheeks at the direction of his gaze. He forced himself to look up, locking eyes with the back of Wolfram’s neck, where Wolfram’s hair was neatly twisted and pinned off of his shoulders.</p>
<p>The bruising beneath Wolfram’s collar was less noticeable in silver moonlight and the warm glow of the torches.</p>
<p>“Your Majesty,” a pair of soldiers greeted Yuuri at the bedroom door.</p>
<p>They were not the usual castle guards with their gray uniforms and simple armor, spears at the ready. These were two of Conrad’s men, standing dutifully in full uniform, with swords at the hip. Their presence was familiar after so long in Conrad’s company — and because, more recently, they were often put on guard duty.</p>
<p>It was a conspicuous change that touched a nerve, because Yuuri knew it meant Conrad and Gwendal were hiding something from him.</p>
<p>“On night duty again, Ilya?” he asked the soldier on the left, a tall man with brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a faded scar across his nose.</p>
<p>“There are worse things, Your Majesty,” Ilya countered with a permissive smile.</p>
<p>“Stop flirting with the guards,” Wolfram called, having already crossed into the room.</p>
<p>Years ago, he would have been angry and accusatory, loudly berating Yuuri for the entire castle to hear. These days, it almost seemed like a joke, his voice edged by a gently mocking tone.</p>
<p>Yuuri feigned annoyance and rolled his eyes. </p>
<p>Ilya glanced into the room at Wolfram, his grin wide and sly, before bowing to Yuuri and offering a friendly, “Good night, Your Majesty, Your Excellency.”</p>
<p>Yuuri stepped inside and allowed the door to close behind him.</p>
<p>Wolfram was already in the process of preparing for bed. Yuuri followed his every move, eyes drifting to and fro as Wolfram discarded pieces of his uniform on his way to the other side of the room. The silver brooch was gone, set aside on a small letter writing desk Yuuri occasionally used when he brought work back from the office. Wolfram tugged the lace jabot loose, tossing it onto the back of a chair. The jacket followed, dropped into a wicker basket for the maids to take care of later. After leaving his boots near the wardrobe, Wolfram began to unbutton his soft white shirt, but stopped halfway when he made it to the vanity, pulling a few pins from his hair instead.</p>
<p>Yuuri swallowed nervously and crossed the room after him, unfastening his jacket to leave in the basket with Wolfram’s.</p>
<p>Pale gold hair tumbled down to Wolfram’s shoulders, the natural waves in disarray after hours spent twisted and bound into a formal style. Wolfram shoved a hand through it, fingers catching on tangles, which drew a frown onto his face.</p>
<p>Yuuri’s mouth curved into a smile even as his heart beat so fast he thought he would be sick from the pace of it.</p>
<p>Wolfram grabbed a brush to work the knots out of his hair, but stopped when his gaze fell to the vanity.</p>
<p>“What’s this?” he asked.</p>
<p>A small box of black velvet sat upon the vanity, next to a bouquet of yellow flowers.</p>
<p>Nervously, Yuuri licked his lips and said, “It’s a gift. For you.”</p>
<p>Wolfram glanced over his shoulder. Confusion furrowed his brow.</p>
<p>“It’s your birthday,” he argued. “Not mine.”</p>
<p>But he set the brush down and ran careful fingers over the flowers, then snatched up the box to pull the lid off and stare at the contents.</p>
<p>Silence descended upon the room. Yuuri shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wiping sweaty palms against his trousers.</p>
<p>Inside the box was a ring — an oval sapphire surrounded by round diamonds, on a band of gold. Wolfram tipped the box to watch it glitter in the candlelight, lips parted in wonder.</p>
<p>“On Earth,” Yuuri began, “when a couple gets engaged, usually the one who does the asking gives the other one a ring. In some cultures, anyway.”</p>
<p>“I’m aware of the tradition,” Wolfram said.</p>
<p>Of course he was. No matter the location, wedding traditions had a way of piquing Wolfram’s interest. Whenever the topic came up, he would eye Yuuri meaningfully and smile, then drift off into daydreams Yuuri didn’t often care to hear tell of.</p>
<p>Yuuri cleared his throat again and continued, rambling anxiously, “I know it’s been a long time, but I always meant to—… well, not <em> always </em>… but after everything, I wanted you to know that I’m serious about—”</p>
<p>“Stop,” Wolfram said, not unkindly, voice full of a patience that wasn’t always natural to him, but which grew in him year after year.</p>
<p>Yuuri stopped. He took a steadying breath, meeting Wolfram’s eyes in the mirror.</p>
<p>He had the most beautiful eyes, vivid green and fringed by long, pale lashes. Too often these days they were dim with fatigue or narrowed in concern, as Wolfram attempted to shoulder their troubles on his own, but in that moment, they were soft and warm. An affectionate light danced within them as Wolfram slowly turned to face him.</p>
<p>“It’s beautiful,” Wolfram said, as gentle and reverent as he’d ever been.</p>
<p>With a hesitant smile, Yuuri finished his approach. He took the box from Wolfram and plucked the ring out, then set the box back onto the vanity and took Wolfram’s left hand. Yuuri slid the ring into place on Wolfram’s third finger, willing his heart to slow down before it beat right out of his chest.</p>
<p>Yuuri had only moments to be satisfied. With his jacket gone and his shirt half undone, Wolfram’s collar was open, his neck exposed. Some of the bruising was hidden beneath makeup, but where it had rubbed off was purple and ugly, stark on Wolfram’s pale skin. The sight of it was a chilling reminder of all that still remained unresolved. Yuuri could hardly breathe from the shame.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he said, voice little more than a whisper.</p>
<p>“For what?” Wolfram asked.</p>
<p>“Taking so long.”</p>
<p>Wolfram’s laughter was a small, quiet thing. “Eight years isn’t a terribly long time in the grand scheme of things.”</p>
<p>Yuuri nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Wolfram’s neck. He swallowed again and forced himself to continue, “And I’m sorry for… this morning.”</p>
<p>He could not recall the dream, only had a vague sense that his mind had shown him something horrible — a product of stress and fear, and the knowledge that his peaceful Kingdom was on the brink of a war they might not be able to avoid, no matter how much he may want to.</p>
<p>What he did remember was waking to a hazy sort of consciousness. Everything had been distant, dull, and murky, but he could hear his own voice, the tone low and dark, strange but not entirely unfamiliar. He experienced the rest of it in disjointed flashes. There were fingers around his wrist, hands along his back, and Wolfram’s voice in his ear, calling his name. He felt pressure against his mouth, warm breath over his face, and the thin column of Wolfram’s neck beneath his palm, pulse fast against his fingers.</p>
<p>It was not the first time. Yuuri remembered, three weeks ago, the way Wolfram’s wrists bruised when he pressed them hard into the mattress, how he gasped when the Demon King bit his neck, and the marks it left behind. There was another burst of memory — the way his palm tingled hot after slapping Wolfram across the face — blending with the past in a way that seemed to imply it happened long ago, except that the shame of it felt more recent than eight years should allow. Yuuri might have been able to convince himself of it anyway, if there hadn’t been a few days several months back when Wolfram’s cheekbone bore a faint bruise.</p>
<p><em> ‘It was a training accident,’ </em> Wolfram claimed at the time.</p>
<p>That Wolfram should lie to him about it was somehow worse than hearing the truth.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…” Wolfram called to him, bringing a hand to Yuuri’s cheek.</p>
<p>Yuuri blinked and snapped back to the present, lifting his gaze to Wolfram’s face. A deep ache swelled through his chest at the sadness in Wolfram’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Yuuri, you would never hurt me,” he said, quietly reassuring.</p>
<p>A bitter laugh tore out of Yuuri’s throat. “You have a bruise in the shape of my hand around your neck.”</p>
<p>He put his hand there to demonstrate. Yuuri didn’t squeeze like he knew he had that morning, but Wolfram’s pulse against his fingers was the same.</p>
<p>Wolfram took his wrist, swiping a gentle thumb over the bone. “<em>You </em> would never hurt me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if there’s a difference anymore,” Yuuri admitted.</p>
<p>Back when he first learned of his power, after his early transformations, he thought there might have been — when he could remember nothing of it, when it was as if he slept, or floated in an empty void, only to wake up with his head in Wolfram’s lap, and destruction all around them. Then, when he could call upon his magic at will, when he knew how to emulate the pitch of the Demon King’s voice, his mode of speaking, the dignity in his posture, he began to wonder if perhaps the shift from himself to the Demon KIng wasn’t a transformation at all.</p>
<p>Wolfram’s expression fell momentarily, face creasing like he was in pain, tortured by whatever thoughts sped through his mind. He recovered quickly, meeting Yuuri’s gaze with a stubborn certainty.</p>
<p>“Either way, it’s still my hand,” Yuuri argued before Wolfram could make excuses for him. “It’s still my hand, and I—”</p>
<p>“Stop,” Wolfram said, voice unyielding in a way it hadn’t been the first time. “Stop, Yuuri. It’s alright.”</p>
<p>“Wolf…”</p>
<p>“<em>It’s alright</em>.”</p>
<p>Wolfram stared at him defiantly, eyes hard, jaw firmly set, with a prideful tilt to his head.</p>
<p>He was not much taller than he’d been the day Yuuri met him — a few centimeters at most, gained so gradually it was hard to tell the difference. If not for the extra length to his hair, Wolfram would look the same as he had that morning on the steps when Yuuri looked up at him from the ground, except that the hatefulness in his eyes was gone. Back then, they could share clothes between them, and stare one another in the eye without either of them having to tip their head to compensate for the difference, because there hadn’t been one.</p>
<p>That was not the case anymore. When they stood close together, the top of Wolfram’s head reached the tip of Yuuri’s nose. If he wanted to, Yuuri could easily lean forward to press a kiss against Wolfram’s forehead. With Yuuri a little broader in the shoulders, and not as thin and gangly as he used to be, they could only exchange clothes one way, and when they did, the clothes in question were obviously oversized on Wolfram’s slimmer frame.</p>
<p>But those changes were practically meaningless. They existed as something for the both of them to tease the other for, and nothing more.</p>
<p>Wolfram was still the same stubborn, arrogant young man he’d always been, strong in a way Yuuri could only admire, and hoped one day to learn himself.</p>
<p>“I told you I’m fine, and I meant it,” Wolfram insisted.</p>
<p>When Yuuri pulled his hand away from Wolfram’s neck to reexamine the bruising, Wolfram caught it and laced their fingers together.</p>
<p>“You don’t believe me?”</p>
<p>“You’d tell me you were fine even if you weren’t,” Yuuri replied.</p>
<p>“Are you calling me a liar?”</p>
<p>“I’m saying you try too hard to protect me from myself.”</p>
<p>“What else am I supposed to do?”</p>
<p><em> Leave me</em>, Yuuri wanted to say, but he’d grown selfish and couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.</p>
<p>When did things change so much? Yuuri often mulled over the question. He could remember the denial that made up much of the beginning of their engagement, the countless arguments they had about their feelings for one another, whether those feelings existed or not, and how they meant to resolve them. Yet he could remember none of the acceptance, the gradual opening of his heart, only knew that he felt different now, that Wolfram meant more to him than the rest of his friends. They were a family, dysfunctional as they might often seem. Without Wolfram, he would be lost, bereft, not quite himself.</p>
<p>Yuuri’s gaze lingered on Wolfram’s neck as the clouded memories from that morning once again played through his mind.</p>
<p>The way Wolfram’s hair spilled along the bedding. The quiet sounds he made when the steely control he held over himself slipped. The drop of blood on his bottom lip when Yuuri jerked away and gained full awareness.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…” Wolfram said.</p>
<p>Yuuri jolted back to the present again, eyes fastened on Wolfram’s mouth now, suddenly overcome by the urge to kiss him.</p>
<p>He knew he couldn’t. He <em> shouldn’t</em>. He didn’t deserve to.</p>
<p>“Yuuri…” Wolfram called to him, putting a gentle hand back on his face.</p>
<p>Wolfram’s challenging expression went soft, determination melting into unparalleled affection, and Yuuri knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the next words out of Wolfram’s mouth were true.</p>
<p>“I love you.”</p>
<p>Yuuri smiled in spite of himself — a small, sad thing that sat tense and awkward on his face.</p>
<p>With another deep, steadying breath, he leaned closer, pressed his forehead to Wolfram’s, and closed his eyes against a world that continued to unravel, thread by thread.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Drop me a comment if you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear from you!</p>
<p>But I should also note that I NO LONGER ACCEPT CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM. Do not leave it for me. At best, I’ll ignore it, and might even delete the comment (especially if it’s rude). At worst, I’ll respond with something snide. Writing is not a career for me. It is a hobby. I have never been published and have no intention of ever being published. I am writing for free. You get to read for free. Unless you are a professional editor (which I would doubt even if you claimed to be, because it’s so easy to lie on the internet), you probably don’t have the proper credentials to be going around telling people how to write anyway, so quit while you’re ahead.</p>
<p>If for some reason you feel the need to leave some sort of critique, even something as simple as “there were a couple of typos,” you are more than welcome to send me $100 per critique first. I’ll happily provide a link for you to do so! Until then, keep it to yourself! I don’t need to be stressing out about something I’m supposed to be doing for fun/as something cathartic, especially when I have a thousand other things to stress about. (Like my baby. And the pandemic. And the fact that I had a baby during a pandemic. Yay for getting a vaccine soon maybe????)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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